The Laws of Brotherhood
by Constant Distraction
Summary: COMPLETE. Hector and Paris have built many memories together, and share a close bond. Now Hector wonders if the bond will ruin everything else he loves. HA, PO, PH.
1. Early Memories

The Laws of Brotherhood

Summary: Hector remembers his life and relationship with Paris, and the obstacles that drove them apart and brought them together. And now one more obstacle threatens to ruin them both.

A/N: This can be seen as a companion to my fic 'Haunted By Bliss', but it stands well enough on it's own. It's Hector's POV, and if you review, I'll respond. It's not slash. I think that's about it, so read and review and enjoy! Thanks!

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Chapter One: Early Memories 

Tucked behind all my other memories is a vague remembrance of my life when I was very young. I had to be younger than four summers old, for I can remember being alone with my father and my mother, who wasn't with child at the time. They were laughing at some funny thing I had just done, and I giggled with them in the way that all small children do. My mother scooped me into her arms, and I was too young to protest, so I gladly sat there, being careful not to squirm. I can remember a feeling of happiness, a carefree aura I probably didn't understand.

It is the only time I can remember being the sole child of my parents. When I was four years old Paris came into the world and introduced me to the law of brotherhood, and my life was never the same after that.

I promptly expressed my disgust when Mother first showed me the tiny red bundle that was Paris. "Yuck," I said, wrinkling my nose. Mother laughed and patted my head with her spare hand.

"This is your new brother, Hector. His name is Paris- say 'Paris," she said, her eyes twinkling as she looked from the baby's face to mine.

"Paris," I repeated obediently, poking one finger at him. His flailing arms bumped my finger, and as I drew it back e reached for it again with an irritated squall. After looking to Mother for approval, I held out my hand again and Paris rested his tiny hand against it. The little fingers moved as if trying to get a good grasp on it, and the cries ceased. To my mother it must have been a sign of a good relationship to come, but I was too much of a child to think anything of it. Over the next few years I proved her instinct right many times. I would stand on my toes and fold my fingers over the side of Paris' cradle. If he was sleeping, which he usually was, I would ask Mother the same question I asked her almost every day.

"How come he isn't growing, Mama?"

She'd patiently turn away from her loom and let me climb onto her lap. "He is growing, love," she would assure me. "Soon he'll be big enough to play with you."

It seemed to take an eternity, but eventually Paris learned to walk, if it could be called walking. He couldn't stumble more than a few steps without falling, it was true, but he would pick himself up and continue on his way. I was too young to remember, but Mother swears his first steps were toward me. It wasn't long before he was toddling after me everywhere I went. I would have to pause constantly to wait for him to regain his balance when he tottered, and if I didn't he would let out a screech so I would have to go back and help him up. I still remember the feeling of his pudgy hand in mine as we moved slowly through the halls on our daily adventures.

I guess that was my first lesson in the laws of brotherhood- never, ever leave your brother behind, or move on without him. Even then, I felt I had to be there to hold his hand. Maybe it was overprotective, I don't know. But in so many of my childhood memories, Paris plays a key role, so my protectiveness couldn't have been all that bad.

As could be expected, since Paris and I were so close from a young age, it left little room for our other brothers. Not long after Paris was born, Deiphobus came, and then later Helenus, Cassandra, Ilione, and Polites. When Deiphobus was old enough to walk, he tried following Paris and I. It infuriated Paris to no end. He was only a year older than Deiphobus, but that was all it took.

"No!" he would shriek, and if Deiphobus continued to tag along, he would turn to him and shout his favorite word again. This was usually enough to send our younger brother scrambling back to Mother, but one time, he was particularly determined and he continued to follow, reaching out to me.

"Heh," he pleaded, and I reached down, intending to pick him up. It was too much for Paris. With a howl of rage he hurled his weight at Deiphobus, thrusting his hands at his shoulders and pushing him down. Deiphobus landed hard on his rear. He sat there for a moment, stunned, and then exploded in tears.

"Paris!" I reprimanded, but Mother had come flying to the hall when she heard the baby's cries. She scooped Deiphobus up and balanced him on her hip, then dragged off Paris as well. And the next morning Paris toddled after me as usual, while Deiphobus looked on with a scowl. Never again did any of our brothers try to cut into our friendship, though both of us grew close with other cousins and siblings. We became nearly inseparable. Our close bond caused more problems in the future than we could have understood as children.

The problems started with Aeneas and have stretched as far as Helen of Sparta. And now, I wonder if the bond we share will destroy everything else I love. And I wonder if I am willing to risk it all.

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Short, I know, but it gets longer around the third chapter. Let me know what you thought. Also, if you read or write Hector/Andromache fanfiction, please check out the Tragic Bliss Awards, there's a link in my profile to all the info you'll need. Thanks! 


	2. My Best Friend

A/N: Another short chapter, but the next chapter is longer, I promise.

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Chapter Two: My Best Friend 

When I turned seven, my father saw it fit to begin my war training. Maybe he started my training too early. Most of the soldiers of Troy start to train when they are nine or ten summers old. However, he arranged for me to have a personally trainer when I was young. His name was Hyrtacus, and I was terrified of him. He was about as old as my father, with a permanent scowl on his face, and dozens of purplish scars all along every part of skin that was visible. I suspect that before he was a warrior, he was a sailor, because he was armed with quite an impressive array of vile curses. He was constantly swinging his right fist around and slamming it into his left palm when he meant no nonsense. I wouldn't have been able to make it through training unharmed if I had to train alone.

Luckily, my cousin Aeneas, who was my age, had to take lessons as well. I had met Aeneas a few times before, but there was never much time to get to know him at the family gatherings, since my family is huge. In my childhood all the adults would fawn over Paris and I, so we didn't spend time with the cousins our age. Our friendship only had the chance to begin during our first lesson with Hyrtacus.

"You'll be the best warriors in Troy," were the first words Hyrtacus ever snarled at us. He crossed his beefy arms over his broad chest and eyed us so we knew it wasn't a compliment. Aeneas and I met each other's eyes but quickly looked away for fear of the teacher's strong fist.

"We will start simply, in the beginning," he continued, his voice much softer than it had been a moment before. I looked to where his gaze was. Father had just entered the small training courtyard, with Paris and a nurse on his heels.

"Hecker!" Paris cried, waving his arms and taking a few running steps toward me. His nurse was much too fast for him, though, and he found himself staying reluctantly at her side.

"And you boys are lucky the king wants you to train so early," Hyrtacus continued with what I think was an attempt at a smile. It was repulsive. "Stand up straight," he growled I a low voice, and we did as we were commanded. Hyrtacus stole a glance to where Father had just been, and seeing only Paris and his nurse, a satisfied look danced across his face. He bent to pick up two small wooden swords, hurling them at Aeneas and I. As he bellowed out instructions, the two of us strove to please him, while Paris looked on silently with wide eyes.

Every lesson happened this way. Maybe it was because our fear of Hyrtacus brought us closer together, or maybe it was just that we were so close in age, but Aeneas and I quickly became close friends. As our skills in warfare improved, so did our friendship, and eventually Hyrtacus grew a bit fonder of us. And Paris hated the whole business.

A few months after training had begun, Aeneas and I were joking with one another at the end of a lesson. Then suddenly there was an insistent tugging on my hand, and I looked down into the face of Paris.

"Hecker," he said urgently. "Want fight, Hecker."

I lifted my head to look at Aeneas; he was smiling, clearly seeing the humor in Paris' statement. "No, Paris. Fighting is for big boys," I said, relishing my age for once. Paris stuck out his bottom lip in that famous pout.

"Want fight! Nee-us fight."

"Aeneas and I can fight because we're older," I explained again. Usually when Paris asked to do things, he would accept my reasoning against it. Countless times I had talked him out of activities that would be dangerous for a baby. But this time he wouldn't listen.

"No Nee-us," Paris said, his high voice quickly ascending into a shriek. "No!" He burst into tears, and I knelt down to his level.

"Paris, stop. Aeneas is your cousin too," I tried in vain to soothe him. "Brother, quit crying! I'll teach you to fight when you're older, I promise."

He continued to wail, but his tears had stopped, and he eyed me with interest.

"I'll teach you," I repeated. "Just you and me. You and Hector."

"Hecker," Paris repeated, wiping at his eyes. I breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn't called me one of the more embarrassing names in front of my new friend. Aeneas would never let me live down being called 'Heccy.'

"Right," I agreed. I held out my hand and he placed his clammy palm in mine. Aeneas, who had been watching the ordeal, shrugged and rolled his eyes.

"Get that boy out of here- I don't want no more boys!" Hyrtacus hollered from across the courtyard, where he was clutching a large goblet of wine in both hands. We scurried out of the courtyard, too scared to laugh at how drunk our trainer was.

Fortunately for me, it was impossible to heed my younger brother's wishes. I simply couldn't stop being friends with Aeneas. Training for battle took years, and during those long years Aeneas and I became the best of friends, and not even Paris could ruin our friendship. After a while, he stopped trying and accepted that I was close with other people, but to this day, there is little love between he and Aeneas.

But that was only the first of many things to come between us. Some things, like Deiphobus, were trivial enough to be pushed aside. But others were more important, and it was all we could do to remain close.

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The next chapter is longer, and it'll be up soon. Thanks to everyone who reviewed! 


	3. Paris' First Mistake

A/N: I just can't ignore that line from the movie, so here it is- Paris stealing Priam's horse, like an idiot. Responses are at the bottom. Also, if anyone was waiting for an update of 'Haunted By Bliss' I'm having trouble with the next chapter (having trouble even getting ideas for the next chapter) so I'm going to talk it over with my English teacher and then write it. Basically, it won't be up for awhile, and I'm sorry. But I'm not having problems with this fic so far, so I hope this is enough to tide everyone over!

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Chapter Three: Paris' First Mistake 

Our real problems started the day Paris turned ten years old. As with any normal brothers, we had already had many arguments from the time Paris learned to talk, but nothing had forced us apart yet. And while I watched, the chubby toddler I knew grew into a boy. Paris was lean, tall, and handsome. Even at ten he received appreciative stares from the maidservants of the palace, and these glances did not go by unnoticed by him.

I suppose I changed in those seven years as well. All I can think to say is that I grew taller and broader, and every day my hair seemed to grow more tangled, as if the constant wind of Troy had found a home in the mess on my head. By age fourteen I had become skilled in war, surpassing Aeneas slightly in my skill and even making Hyrtacus proud. I had been allowed to go on a few military expeditions at my father's side. By that age I had killed my first man, but that is not something I wish to think of. True to my word, I had attempted to teach Paris all he needed to know about warfare, though contrary to what he insisted on years ago, he wasn't interested. He complained endlessly during lessons and only put forth any effort when I threatened to let Hyrtacus train him in my stead.

On his tenth birthday, he held himself straighter than he normally would. Throughout the morning his eyes held a particular glint to them that only I recognized as dangerous.

"What are you planning, brother?" I asked him lightly when we were alone. He only haughtily raised himself to his full height (barely to my shoulder) and looked at me in what he probably thought was a dignified way.

"I'm not planning any mischief, if that is what you're suggesting," he informed me. "I am a man now- I'm above such things."

My response was probably the worst thing I could come up with. I exploded into laughter and made no attempt to control my mirth. I slapped at my thighs and had to wipe away tears of hilarity from my eyes. "No, you aren't," I told him. If he were a Gorgon, I would have already been turned to stone a thousand times. "You're nowhere close to manhood, Paris. You can't even fight like a man- in a war, you'd be the first to die."

"Shut your mouth, Hector. You're wrong as usual," he spat furiously. Balling his hands into tight fists, he turned on his heel and stomped off, leaving me still in peals of laughter. I wasn't worried. I thought he would come back and swing his fists at me, like he normally did. We'd have a casual brawl, and I would win, as was the usual ending to our arguments.

He did come back, a few hours later. He flung open the door to my chambers (to this day he hasn't seen the reason in knocking, and that has caused some problems with Andromache, I can tell you) and fell to his knees in front of me. There were tears streaking his face, and a bright pink bump on his head that was rapidly turning purple.

"What happened?" I asked, eyeing the bruise. Paris shook his head and began to speak quickly.

"I wanted to prove I was a man, so I wanted to show I could ride a horse like you do, and-"

"Paris. Slow down. What did you do?" I asked, putting both my hands on his shoulders, which were shaking with sobs.

"Um…I borrowed your sword and I took Misenus out of the stables, and I was going to try to fight bandits or something, but…um, " He scrubbed at his wet eyes furiously. "Misenus threw me into the bushes and your sword got broken and the horse ran away."

A pang of anxiety shot through me when he mentioned taking my sword, but I forced it down. "All right. So Father's favorite horse is wandering the hillsides?"

Paris nodded; the tears were coming down more freely now. "Father is going to have me killed," he said hysterically. In one fast move he was sitting on the bed beside me, clutching my shoulder with his small hands. "Hector! He'll kill me! Help me, brother!"

"He won't kill you," I assured him, though I was far from certain about that. If Father loved his horse half as much as I loved that sword, Paris was a dead boy.

"Don't tell him," Paris gasped out. "I'll run away-"

"No. Hush, Paris. Where did you take Misenus? Where did he get away?"

"The east hills," he said, then hiccupped.

"Listen to me. I'm going to go find him. If Father asks where I've gone, tell him I've gone hunting, or to the marketplace, or anywhere."

I stood up, but Paris remained hunched on the bed. "You'll get in trouble," he said miserably.

"Shut up and listen! Tell him I've gone somewhere, and don't tell him what you did. If I can't find Misenus, I'll tell Father I lost him, so you won't be in trouble." Paris let out a whimper and I felt compelled to explain. "I may not get in as much trouble as you would. You don't say a word." The sobs resumed. "Gods, Paris, you're the biggest idiot to ever walk this earth! I'm leaving now."

I strode to the stables, blocking the sound of my brother's sobs from my ears until I was too far away to hear them. I stole a bridle from one of the horses' stalls, and tucking it under my tunic, I made my way through the streets of Troy. I was already tired when I stormed through the gate. After a few more minutes of walking I took off at a sprint to the eastern hills.

I shouldn't have let my anger take control of me, but I had held it in while coaxing the story out of Paris, and now that I was alone, I could be as furious as I wanted. I shouted a few curses I had learned from Hyrtacus to the clouds and took pleasure in the sound of my raging footsteps as I ran. Because of this, I was exhausted when I found Misenus.

The huge chestnut stallion was eyeing me irritably when I first saw him. I slowed to a stop, wondering what I was doing. Misenus hated to be approached by anyone but my father; it was a miracle Paris had gotten this far before being thrown. My uneasy mind called up the image of the bruise he had given Paris. Those powerful hooves would be much more eager to strike now that the beast was annoyed.

He continued staring at me with contempt, his head held high, his entire body tensed. I swallowed heavily and took a step toward him.

"Hello, boy. Looks like you had a fun morning," I said calmly, in a voice as smooth as oil. I was relieved when Misenus relaxed slightly. I took another step. "I don't blame you for throwing Paris. He's a fool," I assured the horse, taking small pauses between steps. "Let's go home, boy. I'll get you some oats, I promise."

He was only an arm's length away. I closed the distance between us in one quiet motion, running both hands over his neck and back. He nudged my shoulder curiously, giving me the opportunity I need to slip the metal bit into his mouth and ease the reins over his neck. Sensing another obstacle, I led him over to a small boulder, keeping up a steady stream of chatter as I did. I continued talking as I jumped up on his curved back, using the boulder for added height.

"Let's go home, boy," I said to him, and he obediently turned toward the city. He made no attempt at throwing me off during the entire ride back to the stables, and luckily there was no one there when we arrived. When Misenus was safely back in his stall and the bridle was returned, I took a deep breath and headed back to my chambers, talking myself out of being angry just as I had talked Misenus out of it.

But when I got there, my efforts turned out to be in vain. Paris was still there, as I had known he would be, and he was holding up my mangled sword.

Every muscle in my face went slack when I saw it. Nearly a quarter of the blade and broken off, leaving it with a new, jagged end. It was bent near the middle. As if to mock the disarray of the rest of the sword, the handle had broken cleanly in two pieces.

"Here's your sword," Paris said. His eyes were still swollen with tears and his nose was a shade of bright red. "I'm sorry, Hector…"

"Uh," I croaked out. I jerkily reached out and took the broken hilt weakly in my grasp. "My sword," I said dumbly. What I felt like screaming was, _My prized possession! My medallion of all that training, and look at it now! _"I found Misenus," I continued, unable to look away from my blade.

"And Father didn't ask about you," Paris said with a sad smile. "Thank you, brother."

We felt safe. No matter what I had lost, I had saved Paris from punishment and salvaged what little honor he had. And best of all, Father didn't know.

A few weeks later, Father presented me with a much grander sword and a horse of my own. He never gave any particular reason, just smiled in his all-knowing was and said that real men needed real swords.

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A bit longer. Hope you enjoyed! 


	4. A Stolen Heart and Ruined Trust

A/N: I am a terrible person who never reviews. And this isn't the worst of it. I haven't update Haunted By Bliss in two weeks. But I will! Here's an…interesting update, and if you're waiting for HBB, never fear, I'll block out Billy Currington, my Troy DVD, and all other distractions and get a new chapter up soon.

And this one's dedicated to **Lady Hades**- here's the crush you wanted, although it nearly killed me to write it. I expect a nice review, missy.

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Chapter Four: A Stolen Heart and Ruined Trust 

Some people say that as siblings grow older, they argue less and accept each other more readily. To be honest, even after Paris' incident with Father's horse, I expected this. I had this quixotic notion that Paris and I would just get along better as we left childhood behind. Things only became more difficult. As you grow older, more issues become important- your duty to your country, the gods, women.

Maybe it was my fault that Paris loved women so much. He always wanted to do what I did, and when I first showed interest in a maiden, so did he. Unfortunately, it was the same woman.

My mother always feared that I would inherit my father's womanizing habits. She had been forced to share him with many others, and I think it hurt her to know she wasn't the only one he loved. She truly cared about my father, and I know sometimes she felt as if he valued her so little. I'm sure it pleased her that I started noticing maidens so late. I was sixteen when I first showed interest in a particular girl. Of course, I had admired members of the fairer sex plenty of times- I don't mean to sound innocent of every young man's desires. But from the time I was twelve I had spent most of my time at my father's side, in council, in the army, anywhere I could be molded into a prince. It worked too well.

But one night, shortly after I turned sixteen, Father gave me leave from my palace duties, allowing me an evening in Troy's more lively areas. It was the night of a small festival in honor of Poseidon, and everyone was invited to join in the festivities, though married couples and older people rarely did. Aeneas had an eye for mischief. He dragged me down to the main square, where there was dancing, laughing, and wine. Paris begged us to let him come, and I saw no reason not to take him. After all, even my worrisome mother often bragged that I could "fend off any enemy, be he man or beast or son of a god!" I could not have known the danger that night. It was nothing I knew how to fight, and I couldn't stop its effects.

Our actions that night are embarrassing to speak of, even now, so many years later. I was as foolish as most boys my age were. As soon as we arrived at the square, Aeneas charmed a serving maiden, getting us three huge goblets of unwatered, strong wine. "For the gods!" he announced, his sapphire eyes sparkling. He hit his goblet hard against mine, spilling some of the dark liquid onto the street. Even before we gulped down the fiery drink, all three of us were drunk on excitement, and possessed by a dangerous boldness.

It was then that I saw her. She was twirling gaily along with the other maidens who danced in the square. They were all singing verses honoring Poseidon, all slightly off key, but I remember her singing being perfect. Every time she darted past me she would smile, just a hint of coyness playing on her face. She was pretty, too. She couldn't compete with my Andromache, of course, but she was pleasing to look at. She had shiny brown hair and that captivating smile, and she seemed to glow in the moonlight.

Then again, I think she was pretty. I was on my second or third glass of wine by then.

"Look at her," I said to Aeneas. He had two maidens fawning over him already. It never was hard for him to attract women, not with that charm, or those godlike looks. He glanced at the direction of my tilted head and nodded thoughtfully.

"Now she's a beauty," he said, with a light slur on his words. The girls giggled and tugged at his arms. "Go talk to her, Hector. Come on. Go."

I shook my head back and forth slowly. "Nah. She looks like she's enjoying herself. Dancing."

"She could be enjoying herself with you," he pointed out brazenly. He threw his head back to drink, and I followed suit.

"She's real pretty," Paris mumbled at my side. He must have had more to drink than both Aeneas and I. His eyes were shining and moved around distractedly. "Go…go talk."

"I am," I replied. Holding the goblet tightly in my fist, I swallowed the rest of its contents and handed it to Aeneas with a slap on the arm, knowing it would be full again when I returned.

When I approached the maiden, she spun in one last, dizzying twirl and stepped away from the other dancers. "Hello," she said, with that same flirtatious smile.

"'Lo," I repeated. "You dance really well, uh…"

She said her name then, but I honestly can't remember it. Something like Hippolyta or maybe Carope. I believe I stumbled through a few minutes of lame conversation (I seem to remember it being about fishing) before she stopped me.

"I'm tired from that dancing," she informed me.

"Would you like to sit down somewhere?" I asked, a bit concerned. She looked around doubtfully. There was nowhere to sit. The square was packed with people, some still dancing, some singing along drunkenly in the verses to Poseidon.

"I know a place," she suggested suddenly. "It's an abandoned house, just down the road. No one will bother us there." I shouldn't have been surprised at her boldness, but slowly I understood and started wearing a stupid grin.

"Just let me tell my brother- said I'd watch him," I explained, too loudly. It took a few minutes to find my way through the maze of people back to where I'd left Aeneas, and when I arrived, Paris was nowhere to be seen.

"I'm going to spend the night with that beautiful maiden," I said smugly.

"No, you're not," he broke in before I could speak again. I grew unnecessarily angry. Too much wine can have that effect.

"Oh, stop it. You've got two girls already. Don't be jealous," I demanded.

"Don't flatter yourself, Hector," he spat back. "Look behind you. Look at her."

I glared at him and did as he instructed, but I wasn't prepared for what I saw. Paris was vanishing into the night with the maiden I had been talking to.

I whipped back around to face Aeneas. "Did my brother- my twelve year old brother- did he just steal my maiden?"

"I think so," Aeneas agreed. He shook the two women off himself and strode to me. "What are you going to do?" he asked, fury rough in his voice.

"What can I do?" I asked, more than a little upset. It wasn't the fact that Paris stole the maiden I had been interested in that bothered me, so much as that he would take anything I liked. Until then, I had just assumed that neither of us would so anything to hurt the other.

And now that trust was ruined. I walked back to the palace in a stupor, both from Paris' actions and the wine. I don't remember falling asleep, but I woke up late the next morning in my own bed, with what felt like a hundred hammers in my head, and my stomach churning like a stormy sea. I lay in bed with my eyes tightly shut until the door burst open some time later.

"Go to Tartarus," I growled, squeezing my eyes more tightly together. I could feel the weight of Paris' hand on the edge of my bed as he sat down on the floor next to my shoulders.

"Hector. Come on. I need to talk to you."

I opened one eye. "No. If talking leads to going to abandoned houses with the woman your brother had his eye on, I'm never talking again."

Paris' face was pale. He probably felt as ill as I did, but I forced myself not to care. I would have rolled over so my back was toward him, but I was afraid any movement would send whatever I had eaten last night flying.

"I'm so sorry, brother. I don't know what I was thinking. That wine was so strong, and she was so beautiful…"

"Don't blame it on the wine," I hissed, though I was quickly attributing some of my boldness to the same drink. "You're too young, anyway. And there were a hundred maidens at the festival, and you pursued the one I liked."

Maybe I was being foolish, or overreacting. I didn't care about the girl that much. But to have her choose my younger brother over me was as humiliating as it was angering.

"I'm sorry. I never should have set my eyes on her. I wasn't thinking," Paris said desperately. "I know what I did was wrong, Hector. I do."

"It doesn't matter," I said, pressing one hand to my temple as if that would stop the throbbing. "You still did it."

"And I cannot take it back, but I wish I could. I'd do anything for you to forgive me." He was handling it all very maturely, like he was trying to win my approval. _He's trying to grow up,_ I realized grimly. _Gods, I may have to forgive him._ _He was drunk, after all._

"How do I know you won't steal the next woman I lay my eyes on?" I asked suspiciously.

"Never. I'll never step within a hundred feet of any woman you fancy. I promise," he said solemnly.

"I would have done something I'd regret, anyway," I admitted. I tensed up and flopped over onto my back, making my stomach swirl in protest. "Now get out of here. Ands I'll hold you to that oath."

And after swearing again, he was gone. But despite my words and forgiveness, I didn't believe him. He had shown a tendency toward my father's love of women, and I had no faith in his ability to resist them. Over the next few years, he chased after so many maidens that I lost count. And I never liked any enough to care if he pursued one I was interested in.

Then there was one woman I would have died for. And if I had worried over Paris' womanizing before, it was nothing compared to how distressed I was when this maiden came. She brought a whole new array of problems with her, and even I couldn't have imagined some of the solutions.

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And there will be more soon. I promise. 


	5. Torture

A/N: It's been awhile since the last update, and I'm sorry. This chapter jumps around a bit, so read carefully or you'll be lost. I just didn't want to go into detail about the courtship- if you want to read about it, it's in 'Haunted By Bliss.' Anyway, for all you H/A fans, here comes Andromache!

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Chapter Five: Torture 

To me it seems ridiculous that even though Paris was the brother who loved women so much, I was the one forced into marriage. When I was twenty, my father refused to let me exist without a wife. He called me to his empty council chamber one afternoon to tell me of his decision, and he was quite blunt.

"I don't know if you have any illegitimate children running around, Hector, and frankly I don't care," he informed me, raising one wrinkled hand to stop my protests. He didn't need to worry about _me_ having children out of wedlock, though I often wondered why he never kept a closer eye on Paris. "But I think it's time you have an official heir. After all, you are the crown prince, and I am aging quickly. If something should happen to us, who would rule Troy? You need an heir, son."

From his first hint I was firmly against it, knowing what it entailed: marriage. "I don't see why this is so important," I replied, keeping my voice calm as I crossed my arms over my chest. "There will be forty-nine other sons to take the throne if I cannot."

Father raised one white eyebrow. "Paris is next in line."

"I will marry," I answered hastily. I loved Troy far too much to do anything that would put it in control of my brother. Yes, I loved him dearly, but it was impossible to overlook how irresponsible and childish he was. He had never seen Troy in the way I did, never loved it like I did. He couldn't rule it.

That put me in the hated position of choosing a bride. No, not choosing- you'd be surprised at the complicated process of courtship. This wasn't a normal marriage, born out of love. It was a political arrangement. I had to choose a bride whose city would be a strong ally to us. It wasn't my wedding; it was Troy's.

But then there was that selfish part of me that wanted a woman I could spend my life with. If I had to marry, as was the case, I wished to be stuck with a woman I liked, but I was not so naïve. Brides were expected to respect and obey their husband, manage the household, and bear children. There were no exceptions. I never expected a companion from the marriage.

For nearly a week, every afternoon I would meet Father in the council room. At first, I would sit calmly with him at a table, but after two days I gave up sitting altogether, preferring to pace the length of the room. As I paced, Father would grit his teeth (he has always hated my nervous habits) and rattle off names of princesses who had already been offered as my bride. He needed no messengers to tell him the names and information. What he lacks in strength and youth he makes up in memory, it is true. He had met many of the maidens before and tried to provide me with all the information I could ask for. It wasn't enough.

"Lady Periboea of Argissa," he suggested. "An excellent weaver, I remember. Very kind, and a pretty young thing."

And when given a description like that, how was I supposed to be interested? I concentrated on the city instead of the girl; every name and description seemed the same after only a few days. "We do not need an alliance there. Argissa is too weak to attack us."

"Well enough," Father said mildly. "She's ten years younger than you are, anyway. But what about Denolyta of Lycia? She's a moderate weaver, and she's very shy and obedient."

"No," I said with a groan, dismissing her future with me in a word. It continued this way for an eternity. After a week of suggestions, both Father and I were impatient with the whole process.

"Merone of Dardania. Stunningly beautiful, gentle, respectful, and has inquired after you many times," Father said weakly. "A perfect bride for you, Hector."

"Eh," I croaked. Father sighed and moved on. If there were many more women to hear about, I feared I would wear a hole through the stone floor. "And there is where Prince Hector paced as he chose a bride," my youngest brothers would tell their grandchildren, after I was dead and in Hades, far away from the torture of picking a woman.

"Andromache of Thebe. Seven brothers. A bit fierce, if I remember right. Come to think of it, I doubt she really needs to marry at all. Never mind, then. Artane of Thes-"

"Wait, Father. Why won't Andromache be wed?" I asked. Finally, a unique description among the information about fine weavers and respectful, reverent, dull girls.

"She has seven brothers, Hector. That's all the marriages and alliance her country needs, I think. And most men prefer a quiet, obedient wife. And," he said, watching my face carefully as he delivered the worst news. "She's only a moderate weaver."

I considered this for a moment- of course I disregarded the weaving part- and tried to recall the descriptions of other maidens, but all I could remember was her name in a tangle of others. Maybe some god or goddess blocked the others from my mind. If so, I thank them.

"I will marry Andromache," I decided. Father gave a relieved smile, closing his eyes, undoubtedly thanking every god he knew of for making me decide.

"A good choice, my son. Thebe will be a useful ally to us," he said thoughtfully. "I will send a messenger to King Eetion to tell him that the arrangements must be made."

I bowed my head respectfully as I left the room. Idiot that I was, I thought I was free from any more marriage business. But that cursed King Eetion sent the messenger back far too quickly for my taste, saying that his daughter would be most willing to marry me, and that I should come as soon as I could to make the bridal arrangements.

And that put me in the position of actually having to go to Thebe to collect my bride, which I wasn't too happy about. In the time before I left, Paris teased me relentlessly about the maiden. I went to the stable a few days before I was scheduled to leave, and Paris tagged along. I was impressed. Paris hated the stables; he complained endlessly about the smell of horses, the way I ignored him on favor of the beasts, and that the horses "looked at him strangely." Yet he determinedly followed me to my favorite place.

"Now tell me more about this Andromache," he demanded. I unlatched the gate on a stall and slipped inside, automatically stroking the horse inside.

"You know as much as I do about her," I told him for the thousandth time. Even if I had known more, I wouldn't have shared my knowledge with him. Much as I hated to admit it, I was still a bit stung over his trick with the maiden at the festival, and a small part of my feared that he would steal my bride's heart, as well.

"What do you hope she will be like?" he asked. The horse in the stall lifted his head in Paris' direction, and he hopped backward, glaring.

"I don't know. Normal," I said boredly. "Listen, Paris- stop bothering me about it, would you? You'll meet her eventually."

"I'm only trying to figure out what sort of woman would want to marry you," he teased. I laughed through clenched teeth- he had unknowingly hit on another of my fears. I wasn't exactly typical husband material, and I wasn't comfortable around most maidens. I had my doubts about how well this marriage would work.

"Stop bothering me about it," I repeated.

"It's a wonder she's even considering this- HECTOR!" Paris roared. I had mounted the horse and nudged him gently so he reared up slightly, just in front of Paris. I let out a hearty laugh as my brother turned away and stomped back toward the palace. He still isn't fond of horses.

I have to admit that he was partly right. When I arrived in Thebe, I was a bit surprised at how hostile Andromache was. She clearly didn't want to be my wife, and she told me so in many ways. I still chuckle at the various ideas she had to express her anger- insults to my city, my ways of courting a maiden, my intelligence, my battle skills… the list goes on. And yet I was determined to marry her. Yes, she could be infuriating, but she was absolutely beautiful, with a mind of her own. I knew then that her individuality was a rare gift, and I wanted her to be my wife. She finally consented to it (I had offered her the choice of marrying me) and we sailed away from Thebe. I felt like the gods had blessed me.

I had no idea what I had gotten myself into, of course. I thought, like a fool, that once she was away from her family, and her seven overprotective brothers, she would open up and talk to me more. I was wrong. She barely came out of her cabin on the first leg of the voyage, and when she did come out to talk, she was reserved and would bestow me with a murderous glare if I overstepped what she was comfortable talking about.

I tried my hardest to converse with her, though. "Are you enjoying the voyage?" I asked one afternoon, catching her as she came on deck for a breath of air.

She shrugged. Her whole body was stiff, but I don't think she realized it. "Poseidon's domain is beautiful," she said politely. I didn't dare move closer to her. I knew she would move away.

"I like sailing to, but sometimes it's nice to be on steady ground again," I commented.

"Mmm," she said as a way of reply, already on her way back to her cabin. I was an utter failure at winning her over on the ship. If not for Paris, I doubt I would have been able to talk to her at all.

But Paris did help. When he first met her, he went through his ordinary routine of a charming introduction, and then he watched her carefully for the rest of the afternoon. I admit that this unnerved me a bit- I did not want a repeat of that girl at the festival. When I escorted her to the guest chambers and returned my baby brother Troilus to his nurse, Paris was waiting for me in my room, as I suspected he would be.

"I'm doing this for Troy," I told him immediately, to stop any advice he had. Paris was lounging on my neatly made up bed, with both hands crossed behind his head. I pulled off my tunic as I entered, leaving on my skirt. Well, the heat was unbearable.

I tossed the shirt onto the floor and walked to the balcony, hoping to catch a breeze. Paris was clearly getting impatient. "So?" he prompted.

"So what?" I asked, bracing my arms against the low wall.

"Andromache!" Paris said exasperatedly. "What do you think of her?"

I turned and faced him. "Please tell me this isn't one of those if-you-don't-like-it-can-I-have-it? Things," I said warningly.

Paris shot me a teasing grin. "You know me too well," he said. As I took one menacing step toward him, he shook his head violently. "No, no, no! It was a jest! I don't want your betrothed," he said hastily, scooting over to the farthest side of the bed. "I just want to know what you think of her."

I ran a hand through my hair, not fully noticing what I was doing. "She's not what I expected," I said finally.

"I couldn't tell," Paris muttered, rolling his eyes. I ignored him and reached for the shirt I had taken off, but Paris was too fast. He hopped off the bed and snatched it away.

"Paris!"

"She's wearing green, you dolt," he informed me impatiently. "Green and gold. And if I remember correctly-" he opened one of my trunks and began rummaging through it, creating disarray. I knew better than to stop him. "Here." He tossed a black tunic lined with gold at me, along with a matching skirt. "Wear the mantle you had on earlier."

I caught the clothes and stepped behind a screen to change. I couldn't argue with Paris' sense on fashion.

"So, do you like her?" he asked. I could hear him walking toward the door, where a plate of fruit waited. I shook my head irritably as I herd the feet lazily returning to my bed, then a thud as he flopped onto it.

I tied the black skirt, letting it rest on my hips. "Do I like who?" I asked calmly. I knew who he was talking about.

"Andromache!"

"Oh, her. I don't know," I said, speaking louder so my response would be less muffled as I pulled the tunic over my head.

"You don't know? She's beautiful. Seems stubborn, but kind, and I bet she has a mind of her own," Paris continued as I stepped out from behind the screen. "Not my kind of woman, though. I could never tame her," he said thoughtfully as he popped a grape into his mouth.

"And you think I can?" I asked incredulously. Paris grinned his famous impish smile.

"You're Hector, Tamer of Horses," he said.

"That's not the same thing," I protested. Noting the position of the sun, I moved to the door. " want to go visit Cassandra and then escort Andromache to dinner."

Paris scowled. "I thought I was going to escort her."

"With your reputation, you're lucky I let you within a mile of my betrothed," I reminded him dryly. He smiled sheepishly.

"True. But I'd never go after your woman, brother," he said, pausing with a grape in his hand.

"She's not mine," I said gruffly as I slammed the door. It was true. But with Paris' help, she soon would be.

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Thanks for reading...I love making Hector shirtless... 


	6. Advice Taken

A/N: I know it's been too long since my last update, but I hope everyone will like this chapter. It shows Hector being an awkward fool, and Paris being more mature than usual. Hope you enjoy!

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Chapter Six: Advice Taken 

It was hard for me to admit that I was in dire need of aid as far as Andromache was concerned. I spent hours searching my mind for some kind of simple solution to the problem. Had I not liked my betrothed, my incapability of earning her favor wouldn't have bothered me. But I was enchanted by her defiant independence and her obvious joy in life. And I decided that since I was going to spend my life as her husband, I should at least try to win her affection.

Accomplishing my stubborn resolution was the main problem. The years of my early manhood were spent mostly with a spear in my hand and dust from the battlefield in my hair. Paris was the expert on women; there was no denying that. No matter how many other options I tried to think of, I couldn't escape the facts. I would have to ask my younger brother for help.

The idea didn't appeal to me at all. I had reprimanded Paris countless times over the year for spending so much time with various women hanging on his arm, instead of a shield. His behavior was unsuitable for a prince of Troy, and I told him so on many occasions. Asking for his advice felt hypocritical.

But the day my father set the wedding date for only a week later, I knew I had no choice.

I stood outside the door to Paris' chambers for a few minutes, arguing with myself. My own self-respect was holding me back. Finally my interest in Andromache made me knock on his door.

He appeared almost immediately, with a look of absolute glee dancing on his face, almost as if he had expected me to come. "What can I do for you, brother?" he asked, opening the door welcomingly and ushering me inside. He stretched himself out on a lounging chair, and I sat on a wooden stool. Already I was embarrassed.

"I need your help," I admitted grudgingly. I hadn't thought it possible, but Paris' grin grew wider.

"With?" he prompted. I laced my finger and avoided his eyes before I spoke.

"Andromache."

"Really?" Paris bounced into a more upright position, supporting himself with his hands. I could see the happiness in his dark eyes, and also mischief. He had control of the situation, and he was going to bask in his control for as long as he could. "My brave older brother is asking _me_ for help?"

I rose to my feet, regretting my decision to come. "No, I'll ask Aeneas instead," I informed him. Paris flung himself off the chair.

"No! Wait, Hector! Aeneas can't help you! All the girls like about him are his godlike looks, and you don't have good looks-" I whirled around to meet his eyes sourly. He paused with his eyes wide, tentatively trying to cover his insult. "And you don't need wonderful looks, because you've got such a good personality," he continued in a voice reeking of uncertainty. I returned to the stool. "Luckily you have the looks, too," Paris tried once again to repair his words.

I sighed. I wasn't going to fool myself into thinking my appearance could compare to Aeneas' or Paris', although later on Andromache seemed to think it did. "I want her to like me," I told him desperately. When he raised one eyebrow, I clarified. "Only because we'll have to spend so much time together. Friendship is all I ask. Nothing more."

I was nervous even talking about Andromache. I could pretend to keep my cool around her, but in reality, I felt like a bumbling idiot. Everything I said seemed stupid, and I couldn't find a comfortable way to stand. No matter what I did, I felt and probably looked like a fool.

Paris surprised me by understanding the sensitivity of the situation. No doubt he knew more about my feelings for her than I did. "Then try to be her friend," he advised. "Be there for her when she needs you."

"She doesn't need me," I said in dismay, dropping my head into my hands. "Have you seen her when she's with me, Paris? It isn't hard to tell that she'd do anything to get away from me."

"Oh, I doubt that," Paris assured me. My heart swelled with gratuity to my little brother. He was truly trying to help me, even if I was a lost cause. "I think she's just intimidated by you. In her eyes, she's being forced to marry a hero- the hero of an _entire city_," he stressed.

He lost me there. From a very young age I had understood that I had to be a hero. I was trapped in that destiny. The Fates had chosen my life for me. I failed to see how that related at all to me betrothed.

I felt sorry for Paris, who went to great lengths to try to explain it to me. "Maybe she doesn't need the hero of a city. Maybe she doesn't want a hero who braves trials for everyone else. She wants a hero for herself," he said, looking at me pleadingly, as if I should comprehend his words.

Try as I might, I didn't. It wasn't until a few months later that it dawned on me, and I needed Andromache herself to show me what she needed. I toyed with my hands as I responded. "Heroism should have nothing to do with this. I want to win her friendship, not her undying love."

Instead of giving up on me the moment those words passed my lips (as he probably wanted to do), Paris persisted in his teaching. Maybe he's not as stubborn as I can be, but he can be very determined if he wants to. He must have already decided that it was his duty to help me win Andromache over. He could sense love even before it happened. So could Aeneas; it must have been a gift from Aphrodite. Before I met Andromache, I couldn't even begin to fathom the gifts of Aphrodite.

"Brother, trust me," Paris said urgently. "Learn more about her to know her better. And let her know you, too. Stop hiding."

"I am _not_ hiding," I said indignantly. He ignored my statement and tried to break down his plans into terms I would understand.

"In battle you have to make quick decisions, do you not?" he said, obviously excited about getting through to me. I nodded, thinking that he was insane. "You have to act quickly with her, too. Let down your defenses. Let her see the real you, including your weak spots. You won't be sorry."

"I'll give it a try," I said casually, standing. "Thank you for your help." Just before I reached the door, I called out one more time.

"Paris?"

"Yes?" he replied, looking extremely satisfied with himself.

"I'm never letting you fight in a battle. With all your 'letting down your defenses and letting the enemy see your weak spots,' you'd be the first to perish," I told him, ducking behind the door as he threw a cushion at me. With that comment, I was relieved to see that everything had returned to what was normal for us.

That only left Andromache to deal with. With my brother's advice fresh in my mind, I boldly took the hall to the women's guest chamber and told one of the servants to fetch her for me. She didn't keep me waiting for long. Andromache slipped into the hall and stood with her back against the wall, looking at me expectantly.

I probably should have spoken more gently. "We are to be wed in a week," I blurted out. "My father is already arranging the ceremony."

Every bit of color left her face as my words died. Immediately, I felt terrible. "Are you ready to discuss marriage?"

Her cold stubbornness was probably what compelled her to speak. "I said I would marry you," she said miserably. "What is there to discuss?"

I ran through Paris' well-thought plan in my mind. "There is much to discuss," I told her, looking pointedly at the door. More than once, the palace's pesky maidservants have eavesdropped on my conversations and created absurd stories about me. I wasn't going to let it happen again. "Come. Walk with me."

She reluctantly stepped toward me and we began to walk. I had no particular destination in mind; I was focused on maintaining her pace.

Apparently Andromache couldn't stand the silence. "What is it you expect of me?"

Again, I was grateful for Paris. "I want you to treat me as you would treat a friend," I told her. _There. I let my defenses down, somewhat. _"Loyalty is all I ask. And if there is anything you want or need, I would have you tell me. And what do you expect from me?"

The glance she shot me was one of utter disbelief. But the question hung in the air, unfinished. Surely she could feel it. "I don't demand anything from you," she said. Her voice was soft; her words were true. It saddened me to think that she was coming into the marriage with the thought of receiving nothing for herself.

"Even if you truly expect nothing, I can promise to be faithful to you, and kind," I said, feeling a flood of nervousness race through my veins. "I will love you as a husband should."

I thought I had opened the gate to friendship. I couldn't have been more wrong.

"Stop," she snapped, her eyes blazing. "Don't you dare force yourself to love me. I never want to be loved that way. If we become friends, fine, we can share the love of friendship, but don't force yourself to love me more than that. I agreed to be your wife. Not something that commands your devotion."

Her anger incited my own, and I didn't see the irony in her final statement until later. She was calling me a liar. It had not happened before. "So be it," I answered icily. "I will not love you as lovers would. But I will be faithful to you. My mother raised me to remain true to one woman, and I will do as I believe is right."

"Fine," she said. My rage had cleared my head of all Paris' careful preparations, but I guess my defenses were still down.

"Do you ride horses, Andromache?" I asked suddenly.

"In a chariot?" she fumed. Fury was inscribed in her features, and still she was beautiful.

"No. On a horse," I shot back.

"That's nonsense," she retorted. "Horses are for chariots, not for a man to ride."

I could feel a smirk settling on my face. "Watch." I plucked up her hand and walked faster, knowing exactly where I wanted to go. A few times I looked over my shoulder, only to receive a glare than could probably kill small animals at close range.

The familiar smell of the thick air at the stables calmed my instantly. Leaving Andromache in the aisle between stalls, I slipped into the stall of my favorite horse, Lampos. Without thinking, I began speaking to the beast, then humming as I slid a metal bit into his eager mouth. My anger, which had protected me so well, had vanished. Some of Andromache's had, too. As I led Lampos out of his stall and put a hand on Andromache, she twisted out of my reach and growled, "You are _not_ leading me as you lead that horse." Much of the rage had already disappeared from her face, and I knew her warning was a feeble one. I shrugged and managed to keep an amused smile from my lips.

We made our way to the large arena outside the east entrance, and I opened the gate to lead Lampos into the sandy circle. Andromache leaned stiffly against the outer wall.

The morning sun beat down on my back. Abandoning all of Paris' suggestions, I resorted to classic wooing, which Aeneas had taught me: showing off. As I stepped onto a boulder to mount Lampos, I decided to show Andromache why the horse taming Trojans were legendary.

I started him off at a quick trot, but the horse wanted to go faster. Before I let him, I stopped him in front of the wall, next to Andromache. She looked up at me in horror.

"He is going to kill you," she informed me. Laughter burst from my throat.

"No, he won't," I told her. "They call me the Tamer of Horses for a reason."

I held her gaze and tossed her a smile as I put pressure on Lampos' belly. He needed to urging. He took off at a gallop, and I clung to him with my legs, leaning forward and daring the wind to bite at my face. I let him gallop around the arena three times before pulling the reins in front of my betrothed again.

"What do you think?" I asked, still smiling. I saw her swallow heavily, but she put on an unconcerned act.

"Cocky," she muttered, loud enough so I could hear. I shrugged.

"Do you want to ride him?" I asked. She raised her eyebrows so high I thought they would vanish.

"You're jesting," she said cautiously. I grinned and slid down from Lampos' back, leaving the reins dangling to the ground. "No! I'm not getting killed, Hector!" she protested, backing away as I came through the gate.

"You won't get hurt. I trained him myself," I said, slipping in to the soothing voice I used with the horses. She barely struggled as I took her into the arena, but I saw her eyes focused on something behind my head. She shook her head desperately. I snapped my head around to see what she was looking at, but saw nothing.

"I'm marrying a madman," she said, as one last appeal.

"At least now it'll come as no surprise," I told her mildly. I waited for her to nod before I wrapped my arms around her waist and lifted her onto Lampos' back. She barely weighed anything. She met my eyes and I could see fear in them. She looked unprotected up there, with her dress pushed past her knees, her hands pressed flat against the horse's neck. I hurried to jump on his back as well, and put one arm around her waist, hoping that would make her more comfortable. I knew she would enjoy what I had in store for her.

"Weave your fingers into his mane- it won't hurt him," I told her gently. She obeyed, slowly. I moved a bit closer to her to picked up the reins. "Ready?" I asked.

"Yes," she whispered. I made sure that I had a tight grip on her before pressing my legs against Lampos. As soon as he started her thundering gallop, she fell back against me, unaccustomed to the rhythm of the horse. I sat up straighter to compensate for her weight. Her hair was whipped into my face, and for one agonizing moment, I thought she was still terrified. I was going to stop Lampos and apologize profusely for taking her on a ride, until I heard it.

Laughter. She was laughing. Once this registered in my mind, I couldn't keep a foolish grin off my own face. I made her laugh. Sure, Lampos helped, and Aeneas did too by telling her secretly to get on the horse, but I had played a huge part. We raced around the arena until I could feel Lampos tiring, and then I slowed. Andromache was still laughing joyfully, and I savored every musical second of it.

"So you liked it?" I asked, eager to confirm my thoughts.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, every trace of her rage gone. I hopped off the horse and helped her down as well, feeling, for the first time, exactly how delicate she was. I couldn't have been happier. That ride had made us friends. I expected nothing more at the time.

The love that followed is the best gift I have ever received, and I owe it to my brother that I'm fortunate enough to be loved by Andromache.

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Now that I've got that set up, I can skip ahead about a year, and get more into their relationship, as well as the stresses of Hector and Paris' relationship. Stay tuned! 


	7. Fluctuating Heart

A/N: Too long between updates, but I'm on Spring Break now, so I'll be able to actually write more. I'm hoping the subject matter of this chapter will make up for my lack of updates- it's the chapter where Paris doesn't knock, just like I promised!

This chapter is dedicated to all the readers who stuck with this! Thank you so much!

This is chapter 6.9 because I hate sevens.

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Chapter Six Point Nine: Fluctuating Heart 

Though he had helped me so much with winning Andromache's friendship, Paris was no help once we were married. In fact, my brother ruined what could have become one of my most treasured memories.

It was early in the morning, almost a year after Andromache and I were wed. I was enjoying myself immensely. There had been trouble with bandits at Mount Ida, but instead of sending me to deal with it, Father had sent Paris and Aeneas. I had enjoyed the past four days because they were simple and free of any royal duties, and I savoring that lazy morning.

I woke with the dawn as I usually did, but instead of rolling out of bed to start my day, I shifted to my side to look at my wife. I only got to see her innocent sleeping face for a moment, though. I swear Andromache can sense when she's being stared at, even in sleep. Her eyes drifted open and caught me in my observation.

"Good morning," she mumbled hoarsely, stretching both arms and covering herself with the bed sheets.

"Morning," I replied softly, tracing the soft underside of her wrist with the back of one finger. She blessed me with an unrestrained smile, moving closer to me.

I grinned back at her, truly happy. Of all the moments in life, I think these must be the best. They are blissfully simple, nothing a bard would be bothered to sing about, but I remember them. When I think of her face, untouched by any cosmetics but kissed by the sun, and her hair fanned out on the pillow, I smile even now.

Of course, nothing good can last for long. The warm silence we were enveloped in was shattered as the door burst open.

"Hector!" I heard Paris shout excitedly, at the same time Andromache shrieked. In one swift move we both shoved ourselves off the bed, so we would be concealed from Paris. I dragged the bed sheets over us somewhere in the process, so we were entirely covered. The sunlight streamed through the tiny spaces in the weaving, filling the blue sheet with dim light.

Andromache was huddled next to me, with the tent the blanket made hanging from her head. She gave me a look that let me know she was _not _happy. I returned her look.

"Paris, if you don't learn to knock, I will burn you alive," I said, letting loose the words in a guttural growl.

"I'm sorry," he said in an offhand way. "But the most wonderful thing happened! Come out from under there, and I'll tell you."

I rolled my eyes at Andromache, and she shrugged, knowing it was a skirmish she couldn't win. "Toss me a tunic," I called to Paris, reaching one arm outside of our blanket. A moment later, I caught a bundle of cloth in my hand. At Andromache's raised eyebrow, I added to my request. "And something for Andromache, too," I commanded.

There was a chuckle before he threw more clothes. Pulling my arm back into our tent, I unfolded a very short tunic. "Not funny, Paris," Andromache hissed. I held up my hand again, this time catching a more suitable dress.

Dressing under a sheet while trying to guard both your wife's and your own modesty is difficult, to put it mildly. Andromache was so furious with Paris because of the incident that she wouldn't speak to him for a week. I, however, had the misfortune of conversing with him as soon as I had my clothes on. Freeing myself from the blanket, I stood up and faced Paris.

He had a look of absolute joy on his face. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes glowed. "Well?" I asked. "Did you take care of the bandits?"

To me the question was important, but my brother could not be bothered with such trivial matters. He brushed it aside as easily as he would swat a fly. "I'm in love!" he announced, beaming.

There was a muffled comment from Andromache, who was still under the sheet. "Only the third time this week," she said sarcastically. Both my brother and I could forgive her comment. It was early in the morning, after all, and she had just been rudely forced out of bed.

"You shouldn't claim to love someone if you don't," I chided him, crossing my arms over my chest.

Paris was undeterred. "This is real, Hector! I love her with all my being," he declared. I distinctly heard a sigh of repulsion from the blanket.

He actually looked offended. "Andromache, I'll return shortly," I said, waving Paris out of the room as I followed.

"Tell me about this new love of yours," I said tiredly as we began walking to his manor.

"My _only _love," he corrected. "Her name is Oenone, and she's the sweetest maiden you'll ever meet. Her father is a priest of the Scamander river god. She's very skilled at the arts of healing- oh brother, you have to see her." He was becoming more excited with every word. "She's beautiful. She has eyes like honey, and brown hair; a bit of competition for your Andromache!"

He laughed at his own little joke and took a hopping step, but I was not amused. "I doubt that," I replied hotly. Paris realized his mistake and hastily mended it.

"I was only jesting. They're both wonderful," he apologized. "Never mind. Would you like to meet her?"

I halted. "You brought her here?"

Paris' grin grew, signaling that his following statement was the best part of his surprise. I waited calmly, bracing myself for the worst. "Of course I brought her back," he told me. "She's my wife!"

The sound that came from my mouth was a blend of laughter, choking, and a scream. Paris regarded me quizzically.

"You married a nymph," I said flatly. "You _married _someone. Some poor girl-"

"Some poor _Oenone,_" he supplied forcefully.

"Some poor Oenone is now your wife! You were only gone for four days on a _military _expedition! How did this happen?"

Paris' face took on a look of adoration and wisdom that only made him appear utterly stupid. "True love doesn't always happen when you expect it," he informed me. Every bit of patience I had tried to have deserted me with that comment.

"Do not act as if you know anything about true love. You have been bewitched by Aphrodite," I growled. Paris took a defiant stance of his own.

"Then you are under her spell too," he spat. "You are in love."

"Love has nothing to do with this," I countered, steering the argument back to him. "You've let your lust carry you away again!"

"This is not lust!" he cried, throwing his hands up in despair. "Stop doubting me, Hector!"

I bit back my words. Angry as I was, I had to trust him. Maybe this woman was different. Perhaps she had captured his heart and achieved what no other maiden had. Paris saw me weakening, and he leapt at the opening. "Please, let me introduce you to her," he begged. "You'll love her almost as much as I do."

"I'll meet her," I agreed reluctantly. What else could I do? At the very least, I could offer her the use of a horse for when she wanted to escape Paris and Troy.

His face lit up like a beacon. "She's the kindest girl in the world, brother," he said as he bounded forward. I followed more slowly as we entered his manor. At the door to his bedchamber, he motioned me forward impatiently, then quietly opened the door. "Oenone!" he called as he entered. I followed hesitantly, hoping I was wrong.

Oenone had answered to his call. She moved toward him, as a fragile flower clings to the fleeting sun. He smiled as he put an arm around her small shoulders. "This is my brother, Hector," he told her. "Hector, this is my wife."

She welcomed me with a small smile. Paris was right: she was beautiful, in a weak way. Her light brown hair was caught up in a knot, but wisps of it had escaped, unaccustomed to being restrained. Her amber eyes were as calm and sweet as a heifer's. She was short, thin, and small-boned. Her skin was white, but not the healthy white of most women; it was a slightly gray color. She looked too frail to touch; I wondered how Paris could sling his arm around her so carelessly. She looked as if the slightest breeze would crumple her. Windy Troy was no place for a girl like that.

"It's wonderful to meet you," she said in her thin voice. I replied in kind, and as soon as my greeting was through, her eyes returned to Paris. Already I pitied her. She adored him. He was her world, after only four days. Not only had he stolen her heart, he had blazed a trail that would not heal to get to it.

From that moment I believed it was love on her part; not a pure love born out of true caring and devotion, but created out of dependence and desire.

I think Paris meant well, too. But observing him with her, I felt sick. His eyes shone with lust, and his hands lingered on his body as if it were nothing more than a possession. Maybe he wanted to experience true love, or something about Oenone caught his eye, I do not know. But from that moment, I knew it would not last. On the same token, I hoped it would. Even without Andromache's wisdom to aid me, I knew he could break her heart as easily as he could snap a twig.

"What do you think of Troy, Oenone?" I asked politely. She sank into Paris' embrace even more, but answered me timidly.

"It is a beautiful city. I have never seen so many people in one place before!" she replied. Her statement gave me false hope. Maybe she was only so attached to Paris because he was the most familiar thing in Troy, but I doubted it.

"Yes, the people can be overwhelming," I agreed. Looking at Paris, I asked, "Have you introduced her to any of our sisters yet?"

He shook his head, still smiling a contented smile that seemed out of place on his impish face. "We only returned late last night," he said.

"Perhaps you would like to meet my wife, Andromache," I offered Oenone. "I'm afraid she isn't in a very good mood right now, but I'm sure she'd be eager to meet you this afternoon." I was pleased to see a look of guilt cross over my brother's face. At least he had the decency to look sorry.

"I would like to meet her," Oenone assured me. I smiled in what I hoped was a kind way, that would block out the growing feeling of unease I was experiencing.

"I will send her to your chambers this afternoon, then," I said. "But for now, I must go. May the gods bless your marriage," I called to the happy couple as I left.

Every step was more difficult than the last as I trudged back to my palace. Upon shoving the door to my chamber open, I sank down onto a large chair and massaged my temple. How had I been so happy earlier that morning, being blissfully unaware that a poor girl had fallen prey to my brother?

"What did he do?" Andromache asked from across the room, where she was working through the tangles in her hair. She didn't look like she was making much progress. At least the comb was still intact- she had broken quite a few combs by trying to tame my hair.

"He got married," I croaked.

"WHAT!"

"He tied an unfortunate maiden into a union with him, and when he leaves her, she'll never be the same I explained again. She rushed to my side.

"Who is she?"

I felt helpless, as if I had somehow condemned Oenone to her fate though I didn't know what it might be. "Her name is Oenone, and she's a frail young river nymph who adores him," I said flatly. Andromache's eyes reflected the distress I felt.

"Does he love her?" she asked cautiously.

I shrugged. "I think he means well. But I fear he'll grow bored with her as quickly as he grows bored with all the other girls, and toss her away."

There was an air of urgency to Andromache's tone. "We have to help her somehow, Hector. She doesn't know how long his interest lasts."

I could only shake my head. "I don't think she wants to be helped."

And that was the worst part. Oenone would never survive the fluctuating heart of Paris.

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That's all for now, but I'll try to have more soon. Let me know what you thought! 


	8. The Snake

A/N: The Hector/Andromache shipper in me has burst out of its chains, yet again, so this chapter's pretty full of them. It's a bit pointless, but humorous, and I'll really deal with Oenone next chapter. Until then, enjoy!

This chapter is dedicated to **Lady Hades** for all the help she's given me over the last few weeks, ranging from boys to writing to opinions. And she managed to help me so much from across an ocean, which is pretty impressive. Go check out her story Unexpected later, it's wonderful!

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Chapter Eight: The Snake 

About a week after Paris dragged his new wife to Troy, both Andromache and I were feeling hopeless. So eager were we to make sure that Paris wouldn't break Oenone's heart, we had resorted to desperate measures, it shames me to admit. We had decided to keep the couple under close observation, and try to form some sort of plan to get Oenone back to Mount Ida when she wished to.

Which is why that sunny afternoon found us crushed uncomfortably behind a group of trees in the wild hills behind the city, watching Paris and Oenone. They were a few hundred feet away, enjoying themselves much more than we were. Paris had brought along his bow and a quiver of arrows, probably planning to bring home some game to present to the palace chefs. Oenone had found two large stones and sat on one, arranging the basket of food she had thoughtfully brought. Paris alternated between showing off his hunting skills and charming Oenone. He would effortlessly shoot a bird flying above, then retrieve it and stride to his wife, grinning. I could clearly hear just about everything he said to her, and his romantic words and actions were starting to make me feel ill. Even worse was watching Oenone's adoring eyes and her praise

"I think he'll get bored with her soon, the poor girl," I whispered to Andromache. She shot me a look that let me know this wasn't her idea of a good way to spend a day that I was free from councils.

"I think we've established that already," she hissed back. I raised one hand to her hair, gently extracting a twig that had entangled itself. She slapped my hand lightly.

"Look, love, if you want me to, I'll try to warn Oenone one last time," she offered. "But I don't think she believes he'll just lose interest and leave her."

I looked back at the newlyweds. Paris was slipping a grape into Oenone's mouth. I cringed and looked back at my own wife. "She loves him," I muttered sorrowfully. "She's destroying herself. She won't be able to return to her home without being shamed."

Andromache had thought of a more pressing problem. "What if they decide to take a swim?" she asked, gesturing behind us. A few steps away from our concealing group of trees was a small, dark pond. If Paris had the bright idea of showing off his swimming skills, we would be caught spying.

"We'll say we've come for a picnic," I suggested, but Andromache looked doubtful. Glancing back at the pond, I remembered one of Paris' fears.

"He won't go in; the water isn't clear enough. If he can't see the bottom, he always worries about water snakes biting his legs," I explained.

"I understand his fear," Andromache confessed. She brushed the dirt from her skirt of her pale gold dress. "Look at them now, Hector!"

I looked at where her slender finger was pointing. Paris was on his knees, professing his "undying" love to Oenone. One hand was over his heart; his expression was dramatic. I could feel my lip curling into a sneer as I watched his performance. Surely Oenone couldn't be taking him seriously.

But the look on her face was almost the same. She was blushing and gazing at him with awestruck eyes. She believed him with all her heart.

'She's so naïve," I snarled. Then Paris stood up, waving his bow expertly. The declarations of love were over. It was time to show off again.

I watched as he scanned the area. "I shall shoot that rabbit!" he exclaimed. But clearly his bride felt sympathy for the furry creature.

"Shoot a bird instead," I heard her beg. So Paris looked around once more, and he stopped facing our clump of trees. I receded as far back as I could without moving much.

"I'll shoot that golden pheasant," he said, nocking an arrow and pulling back quickly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the golden fabric of Andromache's gown. A rush of adrenaline shot through me as I picked her up by the waist and jumped with her into the pond.

The water was cooler than I expected. I surfaced just in time to hear the arrow embed itself in the tree my wife had been crouching behind. Andromache came up sputtering, clawing the hair off her face.

"What did you do that for, you oaf!"

She was struggling, but I kept one arm locked around her waist as I kicked frantically. She looked like she was going to protest more, and though I knew I would regret it later, I clamped one hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened, then narrowed with fury. I shook my head desperately, hoping she wouldn't bite me. We had landed in the middle of the pond, and it was fairly deep. Swimming as quickly as I could while carrying her and keeping her quiet, I moved to the far end of the pond, where there was a shelter of overhanging roots.

We arrived just in time. Paris bounded into the circle of trees, his bow in hand. I pushed Andromache farther beneath the roots, using my body to shield her dress from his eyes. I prayed to every god I could think of to keep my brother ignorant of what had just happened.

He must have seen the patterns on the water, but as luck would have it, he didn't comprehend them. He stayed on the banks for what seemed like an eternity.

"I shot it, but it must have landed in the lake," he finally called to Oenone. I let out a sigh of relief as I heard his footsteps leave the banks.

"I can stand here, you dolt," Andromache growled quietly as I removed my hand. I loosened my grip on her waist and moved a stroke away, into slightly deeper water.

"He thought you were a pheasant," I explained, still fearing her wrath. "Your dress is gold."

Understanding lit up in her eyes, but it was quickly beaten back by anger. "He thought I was a bird? I've been insulted," she said haughtily. "Hector, your brother just tried to kill me! Aren't you going to fight for my honor?"

"Believe me, I would kill for your honor, but we must maintain our secrecy," I said dryly. "Let's swim back to the other side and get out." I knew Andromache couldn't swim, but if she stayed near the edges of the water, she could make it.

I must have swum two strokes when she leapt at me with a huge splash. I righted myself so I could stay above the surface by treading water. She put her arms around my neck, and her legs wrapped around my waist like strangling ivy vines.

"What are you doing?" I asked, trying to loosen her hold on my neck. "Let go! I can't swim like this- we're going to drown!"

But she adamantly kept her limbs locked around me, and I couldn't have slipped away if I tried. "Something just touched my leg! There must be snakes in the water."

Much as I normally would have loved having her cling to me like that, it just wasn't practical for the current situation. I could feel myself tiring; I was going to sink. "It was probably a weed," I tried to console her, but she didn't believe me.

"I hate snakes," she whimpered. I tried to propel myself forward, and I landed on a sandbar. I could stand.

"Andromache, love, there are no-" I cut off my words with a gasp. Something smooth had just brushed across my thigh.

"What is it?" Andromache whispered, frightened.

"Nothing. A weed." I spent another moment on that sandbar, trying to summon the energy to get us both across the pond. As I took my first stroke, I let out a yelp of pain. Something had pierced my tendon, and the pain was excruciating. I gritted my teeth and tried to control my breathing, which was made impossible by Andromache's weight.

"What happened?" she asked, panic clear in her voice. "Did you get bitten by a snake?"

Yes, I had. And if I had come across that snake on land, where I had the advantage, I would take my revenge. But if I told Andromache the truth, she would be terrified, and possibly cling to me more tightly, in which case we would surely drown.

"No, I stepped on a sharp rock," I lied through a clenched jaw, praying the pain in my foot would lessen. Using the unharmed foot to propel us forward, we reached the far bank with no new problems.

As soon as I had managed to get us close to the bank, Andromache hopped neatly off my back onto the muddy ground and ran a few steps, keeping a sharp eye out for snakes. I came out on my knees, dragging my calves and feet through the mud. My wife hardly noticed my condition. She darted toward the trees and peered around one, then came back to where I was.

"Paris is speaking with her again. I don't think he saw us, but we had better go back to the citadel now," she said in a hushed voice. "We must be there before they return."

"Mmmm," I said in agreement, making no move to stand. The pain had spread from my tendon to the entire foot. It pulsed and throbbed in red-hot waves of pain. Andromache saw the expression on my face and grew worried.

"How sharp was that rock?" she asked, crouching on the ground. I wondered why she wasn't worried about getting her gown dirty; I knew she liked it. Then I realized it was soaked from the pond anyway. She examined my tendon, and I craned my head to look. Sure enough, there were two puncture holes on each side, and the skin was red and irritated.

"It _was_ a snake," she said exasperatedly.

"Yes," I admitted. Now that we were no longer in the water, I could tell the truth, and she wouldn't be afraid, or so I thought.

She was terrified, for a different reason. "What if you've been poisoned by it?" she asked in a worried whisper. "I can't tend it! Hector, I do not want you to die!"

"I'm not going to die," I assured her, but I was far from certain about that. After all my long years as a soldier, a cursed snake would finally bring me down. "We need to get back," I reminded her. "Help me up."

Andromache held out her hand, and I wrapped my fingers around her wrist. She tried her hardest to pull me up. I had to admire her effort. She put her other hand over mine and leaned back, but in the end, it was apparent that she just wasn't strong enough. I finally used the advantage of her pulling to hop up, putting more weight on the bitten foot than I intended. I let out a hiss of pain, using Andromache's shoulder to steady myself. I peeked between the trees to make sure Paris and Oenone hadn't heard.

"How are we going to make it to the palace?" I asked quietly. Andromache looked off toward the distant gate.

"I can carry you," she decided.

I looked her small body up and down dubiously. Once I had been injured in a skirmish, so hurt that I had to be carried home. I was younger then, and probably lighter, and yet it took both Aeneas and his largest soldier to lug me home. "No, you can't."

"Hector, we need to get home!" she said desperately.

"I'll walk. It isn't too far," I said determinedly.

She gave me a look that I had received many times before; when she believed I was doing something stupid. This time she must have realized we had no choice. "Lean on me, at least," she said in defeat.

I draped my arm over her shoulders, putting just enough weight so she would think she was helping me. It did little to aid me. I still had to use the injured foot, and every time I placed it on the ground, even for a second, lightning bolts shot up and down my lower leg.

And we still had to be cautious of Paris and Oenone. I tried to move as quietly as possible, and it resulted in a heavy limp. It must have been a funny sight: the crown prince of Troy leaning on his slim wife, both soaking wet, limping down the hillsides. It only got worse.

Once we had made our way down the hill a bit, walking on a narrow path, I let out a sigh of relief. Paris and his new bride could not see us over the hilltop. That thought distracted me for one crucial moment. I stuck my injured foot on a stone, and in my haste to remove it, I tripped. I tried to keep my balance by hanging on to Andromache, which upset her own balance but didn't help the situation. Before I fully registered what was happening, we were both tumbling down the steep hill. After a confusing blur of entangled limbs, Andromache was no longer falling with me. I continued rolling. I had no control; twice I tried to grab a bush or stone with my hand to stop myself, but it was useless. I saw only green, brown, and blue blurs, and occasional red bursts of pain as every obstacle I rolled over jarred my foot.

Finally I felt a sudden pressure, colliding with my ribs. Despite the pain and shock as the breath was forced out of my chest, I was relieved. A young tree had stopped my journey. For a moment I just lay where I was, staring listlessly at the branches above me.

"_Hector!"_ Andromache screamed. I heard her footsteps thunder to where I was. She knelt down next to me, her eyes wide with fear. "Are you hurt?"

I blinked up at her. "No more than I was," I muttered, though it wasn't true. I would have a dark bruise on my ribs by the next morning, I knew. "Come, we must get back." She helped me up as much as I would let her. The sight of her was enough to cheer me up a bit. Her damp dress was covered in mud, and her hair had collected an impressive amount of dirt and twigs from our tumble. She looked completely disheveled; nothing like the royal princess Troy expected her to be. I felt privileged to see that side of her.

That glimmer of happiness faded as soon as I took my first step on the bitten foot. As I bit back a gasp, I toyed with the idea of cutting off my foot. Surely it wouldn't hurt as much as that cursed bite did, and I didn't need the foot that much. Except, of course, to walk.

"Let me go back to the citadel, Hector. I'll summon Aeneas and he can come carry you," Andromache offered, laying her hand on my arm. I knew I couldn't have her do that. It would be too humiliating to have Aeneas help me back to the palace. I planned to keep my injury a secret. Who could take a warrior seriously if an animal could weaken him?

"I can walk. We're near enough," I said. And so began the most painful walk of my life. Even worse than the singeing pain in my tendon was trying to hide it from my wife. My elaborate plans involving snakes were the one thing that kept me from crying out. _If I ever see a snake again, I will hack it into pieces, and then I will burn the pieces, and I'll stomp on the ashes… _

It took nearly half an hour to reach the palace. The mere sight of it made me walk faster. I was eager to reach my chambers and rest. I flung open the heavy door to the rooms and collapsed onto the bed, closing my eyes.

Andromache came a moment later. "Here," she said quietly, pressing a goblet of water into my hands. I downed the contents thirstily, laying back down when I was done. I was aware of Andromache prodding my foot, but I dozed off before she wrapped it in linen.

When I woke, I was alone-and ravenous. I considered sending a servant to fetch food, but decided against it. It was close enough to the evening meal that I could arrive early and start eating. I slid out of bed and started toward the door, trying to ignore how badly I was limping. As soon as I got into the hallway, I found a nasty surprise waiting.

"What happened to your foot, brother?" Paris asked. I stopped my hobbling. Did he know we had been spying? He would never forgive me for it.

I leaned against the wall. "Snake bite," I said guardedly. He nodded thoughtfully.

"A snake bite? Where was the snake? Surely not in the stables, it would have spooked all the horses," he mused. "I thought most snakes lived in the hills."

_He knows, _I thought in dismay. I risked a glance into his eyes, expecting an accusation, but he looked surprisingly quizzical. Was there a chance that he didn't know? Was he really that dense?

"There was a snake in the garden," I lied. "I was there with Andromache, and I didn't notice the snake."

Paris' eyebrows shot up past his curls, and he smiled a knowing grin. _Oh, no. I did not mean it to sound like that, _I groaned inwardly. I was about to speak and correct his notion, but he spoke hastily.

"Oh, I see. No wonder you didn't see that snake," he smiled, clapping me on the shoulder. I winced. "Well, brother, you had as good a day as I did!" With that, he pranced off toward the dining hall. "But change your clothes, Hector. You look terrible," he called over his shoulder.

I looked down. With my wild hair and mussed clothes, I suppose I only supported his notion. Andromache would be furious if she found out. But as long as Paris was still in the dark, I was safe.

I attempted to saunter, but ended up hopping to the dining hall, feeling very pleased as I thanked the gods for lusty brothers.

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	9. A Blessing and a Curse

A/N: I think the time has come to admit it: This story is nearly over. I have this chapter and one more (maybe, and I stress _maybe_, two) and then it's done. If you've enjoyed it and are sorry to see it end, a) Thank you for liking it! And b) you may like my other ongoing Troy fic, Haunted By Bliss. It's from Andromache POV, but it's centered around Hector, and it starts before the war and goes until seven years past the end. And it won't be finished for a very long time. I also have a few other Hector oneshots and more coming, so stayed tuned for those if you liked this story.

This chapter is dedicated to **Ms. Laughlin**, my English teacher who has helped me with my writing so much this year. When I'm stuck on an idea (often) or having trouble getting the point across, she patiently helps me through it, and I appreciate it immensely.

Again, thank you to all reviewers, and I hope you like the chapter!

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Chapter Nine: A Blessing and a Curse 

Even before my foot had healed, it became clear that things were not improving. It seemed the painful relationship of Paris and Oenone was more permanent than we all had hoped.

I was struggling to put my armor on one afternoon, wincing at the way my sandals squeezed my swollen tendon. The snakebite had nearly healed, leaving me with four pink scars where his fangs had been, and a dull pain that resulted in an embarrassing hobble. My limp was barely noticeable, and I suspected it would disappear entirely within another week, but it still amused Andromache. She always wore a laughing smile when I was troubled by the wound. As humorous as she found that day, we had agreed not to go near that pond again.

I was fastening my armguards when my wife quietly entered the room. Her mouth was twisted to say something, but it shut as she saw me, only to open again. "What are you doing?"  
I tried again to fasten the armor my right forearm. "Training new men for the cavalry," I explained. Andromache shook her head dubiously.

"You might hurt your foot again," she said, in the exact tone my mother was fond of for using to reprimand foolish children.

"It's nearly healed," I objected. She shrugged, acknowledging defeat, and reached to help me with my armguard. "I've just been to visit Oenone," she stated timidly.

I was a bit confused by this sudden change in behavior. Andromache had gone from a near-argument to being quiet as a doe in a matter of seconds. "Yes?" I asked cautiously.

She finished the last clasp of the leather and turned to pick up my war helmet. I gently took it from her hand and put it back on the stand. It was only training; I wouldn't need it. She knew that. She kept her gaze on the ground as she spoke.

"She's with child."

"Oh." I immediately understood the problem. It shames me to say that my first reaction was bitter. Why were the gods blessing my brother and his wife with a child when they had only been married a short while and felt only lust? How had Andromache been married for over a year and overcome our dislike, and still had a family of only two?

Furious with myself, I pushed those thoughts away. The gods had their reasons. And I couldn't be angry with a child who had had no choice in the matter.

"Perhaps a baby will make Paris calm down a bit?" I joked weakly. Andromache smiled, but the expression did not reach her eyes.

"Perhaps," she agreed softly. "I suppose now they're truly going to stay together."

"It would appear so," I said, reaching for a spear. "Does Father know yet? Is he excited for a grandchild?"

Andromache shrugged. "Paris will probably announce it at the evening meal, if they don't know already."

I nodded. "I'll return in a few hours," I said with false cheer, giving her a peck on the cheek before leaving the chambers. I knew how badly Andromache wanted a child, and it must have been torture to learn that Oenone was going to have one before her. Still, I knew she was too kind to hold a grudge. She would help Oenone through sickness, fears, and even labor, hiding all her sorrow.

It was difficult to concentrate on training our new cavalrymen. Aeneas and I had selected a dozen skilled riders to work with, but I was having a hard time with it. I wondered if Oenone would miscarry, whether the child would be a daughter or a son, if Andromache would truly be able to deal with it, and what sort of father my immature brother would be. With all these worries thundering through my mind, it was impossible to concentrate on leading our men through drills. After the third time I gave orders that made little sense, Aeneas confronted me.

"Hector, are you ill?" he asked, puzzled. "They cannot retreat with their spears out to force the enemies back."

"No, they cannot," I agreed sheepishly. "I think you should train them today; I'm a bit distracted. Would you mine taking control?"

"Not at all," he said kindly, allowing me to leave. As I urged my horse, Lampos, into a trot, Aeneas ordered the new soldiers into a more organized formation, shaking his head when he thought I wasn't looking.

When I arrived at the stables, I handed Lampos over to a groom. The boy looked a bit surprised, but said nothing. I rarely let the stable-hands groom any of my horses after I ride, finding it more relaxing to do it myself. But that day, I knew nothing would put my mind to rest, except maybe a visit to my brother. I left the stables in a rush.

I found him in the courtyard used for training foot soldiers and archers. He had his bow with him, and he was firing arrows into a bale of straw carelessly, without aiming. I stayed silently behind him until he went to retrieve his arrows; I would not risk another injury so soon.

"I heard the news," I called when he pulled the shafts out from the straw. "Congratulations, brother."

He whirled around to face me, the arrow in his hand swinging dangerously. His eyes were wild, but there was an ember of exhaustion in them. "Thank you," he said finally, turning again to remove the remaining arrows. "It was quite a surprise."

I waited until the sharp points were safely resting in the quiver before approaching. "You have a while to get used to the idea," I reminded him. I was surprised by his shock; he seemed almost upset about the child on the way.

"Yes, I think that is what I need. Time!" he said frantically, pulling the bowstring back to send an arrow flying. It shot through the bale of straw and hit the wall behind with a scream that told me its tip had been severely dulled. Heedless of his arrow's condition, Paris nocked another.

"Wait!" I begged, laying a hand on his arm. Metal was valuable, and I couldn't let him waste it. "Why are you upset?"

To my relief, he laid his bow on the ground and ducked under the strap of the quiver. "I'm not upset," he said defensively.

"Of course not. Here, sit and talk with me," I coaxed, then realized there wasn't really any place to sit. I led him to the wall and sat down with my back against it, feeling the soft sand trickle into my sandals. Paris sat down beside me, putting his head in his hands.

"A child is a blessing from the gods," I reminded him, and he looked up.

"Or a curse," he shot back nervously, but instantly looked as if he regretted his words. "I will love the babe, Hector, of course I will," he amended hastily. "But I have never aspired to be a father. I don't want a child," he confessed.

I didn't know how to comfort him. If his fears had been ridiculous, I could have dispelled them. But in truth, I did not think he was capable of being a mature parent either.

"Father has already tried to help me," he continued, running his palms over the sand. "He wants to give me time to think. He's sending me to Sparta, on a mission to rescue Hesione."

I shook my head in disbelief. Hesione was my aunt, the sister of my father, and she had been taken from Troy by Heracles and Telamon long before I was born. It is said that when Heracles slew Poseidon's monster that terrorized the city, my grandfather King Laomedon would not give him the promised prize. On a later expedition, Heracles kidnapped Hesione and slew her father and brothers, save for the youngest, Podarces. Podarces was ransomed back to Troy and took his place at the throne, but from then on he was called Priam, which means 'ransom.' I do not know how much of this tale is true, for my father does not like to speak of it. Yet now, years after the event, he wanted to send Paris to rescue Hesione? Rumor had it that she had happily married Telamon and bore him a son named Teucer, who was probably my age by then.

"It's a useless, impossible mission," Paris clarified. "He only wants me to get my thoughts in order, and return ready to be a father."

"Maybe you should go," I advised quietly. "A trip to Sparta may clear your mind. If all goes well, you could be back before your child is due."

"I doubt even a century traveling the Aegean will ready me," he replied bitterly. "But I will go. Will you care for Oenone while I'm away?"

"Yes," I promised. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the sky, as if he would find answers there.

"When I return, I'll be a father," he said desperately. I had never seen him so serious. "Oenone is ecstatic," he continued, as if trying to convince himself that it was a good situation. I could see that he was failing. I sat there with him, hoping he would come to his senses in time to welcome his baby.

He left two weeks later, leaving Troy in search of answers, and he returned bearing the biggest problem we will ever face.

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Hope you liked it! I'll try to update soon. 


	10. Broken Laws

A/N: I am possibly the worst updater of all time, but this time I had an excuse- banned from writing. However, the last chapter will be up soon, I promise. Hope you like this one!

Warning: Paris bashing…literally. But please read it anyway. I've been looking forward to this chapter for a looooooong time.

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Chapter Ten: Broken Laws 

Paris did not return to Troy in time for the birth of his child.

In fact, he missed nearly all of Oenone's pregnancy. Since he was the only familiar thing to her, and he was absent, she was reluctant to ask anyone else for help. Lucky for her, the royal family helped her without being asked. As I had suspected, Andromache was willing to comfort her when she felt ill. I was so proud of my wife. She aided Oenone in any way that she could, hiding all of her sorrow at the situation. Not even to me would she admit any resentment.

After a few months, Oenone was rarely ill anymore, but she still feared the delivery of her baby. My mother did her best to quell those fears; when the time came, she acted as the midwife's aid so the young girl would feel more comfortable.

Oenone came to me for comfort as well, especially toward the end of her pregnancy. She would visit me in my father's council room, and stand timidly by the door, always asking the same question.

"When will Paris return?"

And every time, I would trace his route on a map of the Aegean, and patiently explain every step of the way. I even went so far as to tell the tale of Hesione's abduction several times. And though I was making everything clear to Oenone, my mind cleared up with doubt, and I believe hers did as well. She feared that he had found another mistress, some temple maid in Sparta. I feared some tragedy. A trip to Sparta should not take eight months. Half a year, at most. I tried to think of every cause for delay, but these were not comforting thoughts. The ship could have been caught in a storm, but there had been no word of wreckage. Paris hadn't planned in stopping in any other cities, and I could not think of any reason to stay in Sparta so long. No one seriously expected him to bring back Hesione. He should have been home, unless something had gone wrong.

Something had gone terribly wrong, but I was blissfully unaware of it at the time. In Troy, life continued cheerily. Oenone gave birth to a healthy baby boy, who she called Corythus. It was clear to all that she loved him. She watched him as he slept, as chattered on to anyone who would listen about how his father would love him. It is sad to look back on her excitement now, or think of that princely boy.

Three weeks after the birth of Corythus, the horse-bearing sails of Troy appeared on the horizon. Father sent Deiphobus and a small band of soldiers to welcome them. I waited patiently in the entrance room of Father's palace with Andromache at my side. I was curious as to why Paris was so late in returning, but mostly relieved that he had made it back safely.

Oenone entered the room in her timid way, with baby Corythus in her arms. She gave a shy smile to everyone in the room, then stood by the wall, where she wouldn't be noticed. She clutched her son lovingly, bouncing him in her arms, but her amber eyes were locked on the heavy door. Excitement lit up her fragile face; she was finally going to be reunited with her husband.

The door swung open, pushed from the outside by two guards, and Paris entered. His journey had not changed him much. He had the same playful eyes, well-combed curls, and sly smile. The biggest change was the woman attached lightly to his arm.

And oh, that woman. The room collapsed into a stunned silence as every set of eyes drank in her divine beauty. Her hair was a cool golden river, her skin so pale it glowed. Her pale blue dress had silver pieces sewn into it, and the light fabric caressed every curve of her body. Her pink lips were unsmiling, and her cheeks held only a faint blush. Her wide blue eyes were as bright as the Aegean Sea. Her entire being reeked of coldness. There was no warmth to her; it was as if she was made of the most frigid dawn the world had ever seen. She was beautiful, that was undeniable, but repulsively inhuman.

Paris' smug smile was enough to light the room, if anyone would look away from the woman long enough to see it. "Father, I present Helen of Troy," he announced. "She has consented to being my wife."

There was the pitiful sound of Oenone choking back a scream in the corner, but I could not deal with her sadness yet. I was vaguely aware of Andromache slipping past me, presumably to comfort her. I was completely focused on Paris and my father.

"Helen, Queen of Sparta?" Father corrected, his voice posing a question. We had all heard rumors of her beauty, and of the manner of her birth. It was said that Zeus wooed her mother in the guise of a swan. Looking at her, it was easy to believe that tale. It was also easy to understand why so many men had wooed her, and pledged to protect her and her husband, King Menelaus of Sparta. With all that in mind, I could not fathom how she had been brought to Troy.

Paris shook his head. "She is a Trojan princess now," he explained lightly, gazing at his new bride.

My breath hitched in my throat. _Her husband will want her back. War. This will create war._ The thoughts of terror dripped through my head agonizingly slow, accompanied by images of scarlet-cloaked men and the fearful eyes of wives. Amidst the fearful thoughts, one wish stood out clearly.

_Peace. I want peace._

"Welcome to Troy, Helen," my father said calmly, and in that moment my hopes shattered. He was entranced by her as much as Paris was. He pecked hr on the cheek and she smiled, her eyes darting around the room. I cautiously removed myself from the innermost circle of people. With one glance, she captured the men, made them ache for her approval. Even I found it hard to hate this enchantress, but I certainly was not willing to pledge my heart or loyalty to her. And though it was clear she had come with Paris of her own accord, I could not be angry with her just then. All my rage was aimed at Paris.

After a moment's hesitation, I barreled through the crowd to where Paris stood. "Brother," I spat, hating to call him by the title that connected him to me. "A word with you, please."

In the room full of men admiring his new prize, Paris was reluctant to leave. "I just arrived, Hector," he protested airily. "Let me rest before we speak."

The months of worrying about his safety and my relief at his return vanished with his words. His carefree attitude made my palms itch to slap him. I wrapped one hand around his wrist.

"We should speak now," I stated, leaving him no room to decline. With an apologetic shrug at his new bride, he followed me out of the hall and into the large, empty council room.

"What do you think of Helen?" he asked, hopping onto one of the chairs.

"Beautiful," I growled, shutting the wooden door. "Perhaps you forgot, little brother, about your first wife."

His joyous expression went stony at the mention of Oenone, but I continued. "And have you forgotten your child? You're the father of a healthy boy. Corythus. She named him Corythus. He's going to look a lot like you someday," I snarled, growing more furious with every word I hurled at Paris. "He deserves to be a prince someday, not the son of some poor girl you tossed away."

Still Paris would not speak. I continued to fill the silence, bitterness creating words. "Oenone waited for you for far too long. You cannot forget her devotion for this Spartan-"

"_Trojan,_" Paris said stiffly. "I love Helen, and if you cannot accept that-"

"You are already a husband and a father!" I shouted, pounding my fist against a chair. It clattered to the ground, but I did not care. "You cannot neglect what you have!"

"I have no wife but Helen," Paris said coldly. "I have no son."

Fury flashed through my veins; before I knew it, I was directly in front of him, and then he reeled back as my fist made contact with his jaw. His surprised cry echoed through the room. Then he was on his feet, lunging at me with murder in his eyes. Both his hands wrapped savagely around my throat; as the pressure increased, I swiftly rammed my knee into his stomach.

"You'll start a war!" I screamed at him. As he doubled over, I hit his head. It was not enough. Though he was obviously in pain, he straightened up to his full height and slammed his fist straight into my nose.

An animal-like cry escaped my lips as blood exploded onto my face. I raised my hands to stem the flow of blood, but it was useless. Blinded by pain and anger, I closed my wet hand over Paris' shoulder and forced him back against the wall. I hit him twice more before the door flew open.

"_STOP!"_ Andromache's voice was slightly hysterical. Against her command, I hit my brother again, and instantly felt the weight of my wife trying to pull me away. A second later, someone much stronger was pulling me back. I collapsed to the floor as my mother rushed to Paris, crying. Suddenly the room was full. Andromache was kneeling by my side, looking shocked, and Aeneas was right behind her with Deiphobus, who had helped pull me away. Worst of all was my father, standing close by Paris, his eyes holding intense fury.

"That was unacceptable! I will not have any of my sons fighting!" he said loudly. Paris glared at me and spat blood from his mouth.

"He will start a war!" I heard my own desperate voice say, but Father would not listen.

"He is your brother, Hector, and he deserves your loyalty as much as anyone else," he said, and that was the end. Mother helped Paris out of the room, followed by Father and a few guards, and I remained on the floor.

"Your nose," Andromache said. I raised a careful hand to the injured part of my face. I suspected it would have to be shoved back in place, the way it had been fixed when the nose-guard on my helmet struck it years before. Aeneas nodded understandingly, already willing to fix it himself.

"Paris should be stoned to death," I muttered, using the arm Deiphobus offered to get to my feet. "He has started a war now-"

"He is your brother!" Andromache cried, echoing the words of my father.

They were right. I had broken one of the laws of brotherhood; I had hurt him. All my life I had looked after him, only to break that bond of trust now. But I was not the only guilty one.

For Paris had brought home a bride that could get all our brothers killed.

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	11. The End of Peace

A/N: Well, here's the last chapter. Dedicated to **the readers **for sticking with it, and huge thanks to **Gaslight **for ideas and beta-ing, and **Lady Hades **and **Lariren-Shadow **for the talks. Thanks for reading, enjoy!

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Chapter Eleven: The End of Peace

With the arrival of Helen, everyone's life was affected in some way. The changes happened almost immediately, and try as I might, nothing I could do would return the palace to its old ways, not even attempting to return the Spartan queen.

The day Paris came back, Oenone fled with Corythus back to Mount Ida, and nothing Andromache could do or say stopped her. Paris surely must have noted her absence, but he said nothing. Instead, he wore casualness like a light cloak, treating Helen like a cherished medallion. He looked upon her with painfully obvious lust and possession. She certainly did not mind the attention he or other men gave her. With one glance she could enchant almost any man, and she felt free to abuse that power. From the moment I met her, I felt uneasy around my brother's wife, and took great pains to avoid her. It was not only her beauty that made me feel strange, but also how godlike and inhumanly cold she was. The stories of her birth, and how Zeus had courted her mother as a swan, must have been true, for that was exactly what she was: a swan, a mixture of both god and bird, hidden cruelty and evident beauty. She was insufferably calm though she knew she was bringing war to Troy.

We had a chance to stop the war. Menelaus sent envoys that arrived shortly after Paris and Helen did. The men met with us in council. Their offer was fair.

"King Menelaus will wage war on Troy if his wife is not returned with compensation for the treasure Prince Paris took from his vaults," one messenger said. I did not blame Menelaus for wanting his treasure back. Helen and Paris had taken enough of his wealth to fill two ships, and left room to sack one neutral city on the way home. While Paris reveled in his new glory as a sacker of cities, he failed to see his mistake: The city he sacked could have been a valuable ally to us in the war he had started.

"I need to confer with my advisors," Father responded, waving to two guards to escort Menelaus' envoys out of the room. He looked around expectantly to the rest of us in the council room.

I spoke before any of my father's advisors could get a word in. I had little respect for most of them, as their decisions were often foolish. "Father," I began. "They offer a way out of war. Let us return to Sparta what has been taken. Helen is no benefit to us; she serves as an excuse for the Achaeans to try and take the city. They yearn to take our power and wealth- they know we are the most powerful city in the Aegean. But we are fighting a wrong. Send her back to where she came from."

I could feel Paris' anger rising, even though he was hardly visible. Father had placed him farthest from Menelaus' messengers, in the shadowy corner of the room, as a precaution. He stepped forward now, his eyes narrowed at me. We had not spoken since our fight; I crossed my arms and silently dared him to speak.

"It is no fault of mine that that man cannot hold on to his own wife," he spat. "Helen is my wife now, and I will not give her up."

"Your actions have endangered the entire city," I fired back. The council members lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, not wanting to step forward and resolve our argument. Even Father was quiet, but I continued to speak. "It is not fair that our soldiers should have to die because you've given the Achaeans a reason to attack us."

"We hold back raiders constantly," Paris retorted, his hands balling into fists.

"No, Paris," I cut in. "_We _do not hold back raiders. You have no part in it. The men of Troy do the fighting, and they should not fight for one of your stupid mistakes!"

Paris was angrier now, as angry as he had been when we attacked each other. But now we were surrounded by others, and no physical violence could resolve the issue. "If Helen is only an excuse, as you say," he said, his voice reaching a tone I did not like. "The Achaeans will attack anyway. It is of no consequence whether I keep my bride or not."

To my horror, a mumble of agreement coursed through the room. I hastily tried to argue my point. "If Menelaus gets his wife back, they will have no other excuse," I said desperately, but it sounded weak and unconvincing even to my own ears.

Father stood, bringing the noisy room to silence. "Paris is right. Helen is not the reason for this disagreement, and so she will stay."

His proclamation sent my heart plunging to the floor. "Father," I begged, lowering my voice. "Would you see Troy fall for his mistakes?"

But he ignored me, sending a guard to bring back the envoys. At that point I stormed out of the room, unable to keep my composure any longer. That evening I watched the Spartan sails cross over the crystalline waters, dreading what I knew was coming.

Yet no one paid heed to the looming threat. Weeks went by, and there was no sign of war. The royal family embraced Helen as our own, for the most part. I think to everyone she was still slightly alien. And no one mentioned Oenone or Corythus, for fear of what Paris would do. Everyone had heard of our fight and seen my broken nose, and no one wanted to incur his anger again.

I will never forget the day war came to Troy, not even if I live as long as the gods themselves. The afternoon was hot, but not blistering. Farmers toiled in the fields, tending newly planted crops. A small group of women had taken their laundry down to the Scamander to wash. In the citadel, Paris and Helen had locked themselves away in their manor, while my parents were resting.

I was not resting. For the third time that week, I was inspecting my weaponry. I sat on the bed in my chambers, picking up my bronze sword and examining it carefully. When I was satisfied that there were no new flaws, I put it aside and studied my greaves.

"Stop, love," Andromache requested softly from her seat at the loom. "You look like a warmonger. I doubt your weapons have received any new flaws since you last checked."

Hesitantly I dropped my greaves back onto the bed. I cursed myself for making her nervous with my tension. She knew I expected a war, but she did not want to believe me.

"I'm sorry," I said, moving to stand behind her at the loom. I rested one hand on her slender shoulder and brushed her curly hair back. "I cannot help being nervous," I murmured.

She paused in her weaving. "If the Spartans have not come already, perhaps they will not," she suggested hopefully. I did not correct her notion. It was clear in the way she said it that she didn't believe her own words.

She bit her lip, a habit of concentration I doubt she knew about. I could almost see the thoughts racing through her head, but could not imagine what she was thinking. Finally she lay down her shuttle and stood. "It is too beautiful a day to waste," she said with fake casualness. "Will you take me out walking in the city? To the Tower of Ilium, maybe?"

I was curious as to why she asked me, and to escape my own tension would be a relief. I opened my mouth to agree, but in that moment, my life of peace ended. The warning bells of one of the watchtower sounded hollowly throughout Troy.

I froze, immediately forgetting my plans. I could feel the bell's vibrations in my chest. As soon as one chime ended, another began, tearing down hopes and delivering fate.

I saw Andromache's happy eyes change into orbs of terror, and just as quickly, she masked her fear. I ripped myself out of my immobile state and began snatching up pieces of armor. A few seconds later my wife helped me fasten leather and metal, her deft fingers trembling almost unnoticeably. She did not speak, and in the frantic rush I doubt I could have answered her. Before all my armor was fastened, I snatched up my sword and hurried out of the room with Andromache on my heels.

It did not take long to reach the segment of the walls where the armory was. Before going to the crowded warehouse, I sprinted up the walls to assess the damage. Already Helen and my father had gathered there. I did not speak to either one, but stood stunned by the sight before me.

Menelaus was not leading only the Spartans against us.

There were at least a hundred ships nearing the shore, with more sails appearing over the horizon. I saw the squiggly octopus of Spartan sails, and the black sails of the Myrmidons, and more symbols on other ships that I did not recognize. But there was one sail that was all too familiar: the lion of Mycenae.

Menelaus' brother, King Agamemnon of Mycenae, had wanted to destroy us for years.

Helen radiated excitement. "The ships with the thunderbolt sails are from Salamis," she informed my father. I silently counted the ships with those sails. _Forty ships, fifty men to a ship…that city alone has brought two thousand men! _

"And the ones with the three blue lines are from Elis," Helen continued, her voice thick with joy. With a jolt, I realized she was flattered that these men had come to die for her. "Oh, they've only brought eleven."

I knew I didn't have time to be counting ships. I had to fight them. I turned from the sea and stepped forward, nearly colliding with Andromache.

Her face was a mask of calm that almost looked real, if it weren't for her devastated eyes. "Hector, promise me you'll be careful," she said in a quiet rush. "Because I'm with child. And the baby will need you-"

I cut off her words and I closed the distance between us in an embrace. I felt her draw a shuddery breath. "I will return," I promised, confused by the thoughts in my head. I hadn't known it was possible to feel fear, love, joy, and despair all at once. In the end, the immediacy of the battle drew me away. "I _will_ return," I assured her again, then ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time. I raced into the armory without pausing, and shouted above the men's voices.

"The Achaeans are bringing their ships to shore," I called out, still feeling numb from Andromache's news. "We must beat them to it! I want all archers to accompany us to the shore!" I ordered. I grabbed a spear off a rack and weighed it in my hand, then put on my helmet. I found myself wishing that the allies of Troy were with us, but we were alone for this battle. I turned to Deiphobus, who was trying to find a spear. "Brother, send messengers to Glaucus, Aeneas, Sarpedon, Acamas, Memnon…" I rattled off the names of our strongest allies. "Anyone else who has pledged their loyalty to us. We will need them soon." Deiphobus nodded briskly, and I turned to find my waiting chariot. The charioteer, a boy about 12, stood stiffly holding the reins. For an instant I felt sorry for him, wanted to send him back to his home. But I killed my first man before I was twelve. Not even the innocents were spared in war.

I waited impatiently as soldiers scrambled into a group in front of where I stood, adjusting their armor as they came. One of the archers had thoughtfully brought a torch with him. I ordered a nearby infantryman to bring more.

The majority of our men assembled in only a few minutes; I was suddenly glad that we did so many drills to build speed. I held up a hand for silence.

"The Achaeans have too many ships for us to attack them with our own," I explained in a shout. "We will meet them at the shore. Make it difficult for them to land," I ordered. "Stay in ranks behind me. Archers at the back." I nodded at the guard to open the gate, and with a war cry as old as Troy itself, we were flying across the plain.

My mind should have been focused on nothing but the impending threat, but that was impossible. My thoughts were split between the weapons in my hands and why I was fighting. Could I kill men simply because the laws of brotherhood ordered me to protect my brother in his selfish decision? It went against my honor both to fight for Paris and not to.

As the thundering of Trojan feet and chariot wheels echoed across the plain, a sense of urgency enveloped me. Why was I fighting? Surely the time had come to acknowledge that the unwritten laws of brotherhood were no longer as true as they once were. There was an undeniable rift between Paris and I. W as I fighting to protect him anymore? In my mind, suddenly the heart of my beloved city was clear: my wife and unborn child.

A single Achaean ship embedded its prow in the Trojan sand. Time slowed enough for me to pray to the gods that I would live to see the birth of my child, and then I plunged into battle with a fury that overcame me.

I did not fight for Paris, for the laws of brotherhood I held so dear had been broken too many times to hold true.

Not in retaliation for the harm he had done me.

For Troy.

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End. I hope you liked it! Thanks so much to everyone for reading and reviewing, it meant the world to me. If you want to read more about Andromache's baby, and the rest of Hector life, I'll cover it all in **Haunted By Bliss**, I promise.

Spider


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